


Instruction to Make it Perfect

by kickflaw



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 02:25:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickflaw/pseuds/kickflaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for <a href="http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/9322.html?thread=6142314#t6142314">this</a> KMM prompt: <i>Arthur thinks that he is a sex GOD. Merlin is dubious and not impressed. Chaos ensues.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Instruction to Make it Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta (if any):** Much improved by the generous help of [marguerite_26](http://marguerite-26.livejournal.com/) and [ella_bane](http://ella-bane.livejournal.com/). I LOVE YOU <3 <3 <3
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, not making $$
> 
>  **Note:** PWP, hints of powerplay. Originally posted on the KMM _ages_ ago [here](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/9322.html?thread=6164330#t6164330). This is the slightly longer and vastly better betaed version. :D

Instruction to Make it Perfect

“And then she does this thing with her hips—Merlin, are you listening?” Arthur asks.

“Mmhmm,” says Merlin. He’s got a rag in his hand and is swiping it over the window—over the same pane of the window that he’s been cleaning for twenty minutes.

Arthur scowls at Merlin’s back. “Merlin!”

Merlin turns quickly and bangs his elbow on the sill, dropping the rag. “Ow! Bloody ow. What, Arthur?” And instead of attentively waiting on Arthur’s words, Merlin’s tugged his sleeve up and is examining his skinny arm with a frown.

“You,” Arthur begins, but can’t think of how to convey the depth of Merlin’s failures and besides, Merlin still isn’t listening; he gives up. “What’s so interesting out in the courtyard that you don’t want to hear about Lady Olwen’s proclivities?”

Merlin rolls his eyes as he lets his arm drop, shirtsleeve sliding back down to his wrist. “Right, because hearing tales of your courtly conquests is so incredibly riveting.”

“Look, I know how hard it must be for you, being, well,” Arthur gestures at Merlin’s gawky frame, “and it clearly makes you jealous and bitter of my skills, but you might learn a thing or two by paying attention. At the very least,” he says, grinning, because Merlin is already bristling with the start of a good indignant squawk, “it’ll give you something more than vague imaginings to pass your…alone time with.”

Merlin’s mouth works silently for a wonderful moment or two, and Arthur’s face is starting to ache from grinning so hard. “Come now, Merlin. It’s all right. Many people your age are virgins. Well, women mostly, but—”

“I’m not a virgin,” interrupts Merlin. “In fact, I could probably teach you a thing or two, _Sire_.”

Arthur laughs and laughs until he gets a cramp in his side and has to bend over, gripping the back of his chair for support. “It’s just,” he gasps out, “you! That you—!” And then he laughs some more, because Merlin? Teach him about sex? It’s the funniest thing he’s heard in weeks.

Merlin is well and truly glaring, with color dark and high on his cheeks, when Arthur recovers enough to stand fully again. “Ah, Merlin. If I ever decide to keep a court jester, you can rest assured that the position will be yours.”

“I could!” Merlin insists. He crosses his arms after a moment and adds, “Prat!”

“You turn into a worse mess than usual around pretty girls,” says Arthur. “Given my extensive experience, I have a hard time believing that stuttering and blushing can woo a woman to lie down with you.”

“Oh, all your _extensive experience_ , of course.” Merlin mimics obnoxiously. “Did it ever occur to _your highness_ that I’m not talking about women?”

It takes Arthur a moment to catch on, and another few for him to totally reevaluate his manservant. Merlin. With men, liking it with men, having it off with men in many and varied ways when he’s not polishing or dusting or sleeping or brewing. Merlin with his awkward body in the night, twisting and whatnot against a strong form rather than softly coaxing his way into softer arms.

Merlin raises his eyebrows as Arthur gawps. “It’s all right, Arthur,” he says, “I know you can be a bit slow. Just work through it at your own pace.”

Arthur glowers at him. “Stocks, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs, mouth all stupidly smirking like he’s got one up on Arthur. “Had some fun time in the stocks after dark, actually.”

That…ugh. That was not an image Arthur needed: Merlin bent over, bound and at the mercy of some…man, probably wriggling and being a tease about it, because naturally Merlin would be as difficult a bed partner as possible. And now Arthur wants to scrub his brain with lye for even thinking about it.

“Well,” Arthur says eventually, having cleansed his mind with thoughts of Morgana’s bosom, “you’ve never had a woman, though, have you?”

A fleeting shadow passes over Merlin’s face, his smirk dropping. He unclenches his arms and bends to pick up his rag. “No. There was one time, almost, but…no.”

“Ha!” Arthur crows, uncomfortable with Merlin’s strange sudden melancholy. “I suppose men must be much easier to woo than women. And easier to bed too, very straightforward and all. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? It’s really very complicated, Merlin. Next time I seduce a woman, which will probably be, hmm, tomorrow? Next time, you should pay close attention.”

Merlin gives him the kind of look he should be sacked for, but Arthur is a forbearing and kind man. He understands how hard it would be for Merlin to find any other work. “Don’t you think your need to share every detail of these encounters with me is a little odd, Arthur?” Merlin asks.

“I have an interest in your education,” Arthur replies.

“You should attend to yours first. Good luck with that,” says Merlin and then, incredibly, turns back to the window and resumes wiping it. Arthur _kindly_ decides not to point out that the rag is too dirty from the unswept floor to be any use and that Merlin should be flogged for his insolence on an hourly basis. Merlin’s servitude is, oftentimes, more hindering than helpful.

“I’ll have you know that I am considered the best lover at court, _Mer_ lin. A perfect lover, some ladies have said!” Arthur grins, remembering. It had been just the one lady, really, and she had said “what a perfect night” actually, but Merlin didn’t need to know that. Either way! It was still a notable compliment to his prowess.

“Uh huh,” Merlin says. The rag leaves a dirty streak under his hand.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “My skills are renowned so much that foreign lords’ wives have sought me out when they visit.”

“Sure,” Merlin says.

“I bet I could please a partner—woman or man—better than anyone you’ve ever met!”

Merlin nods his head slightly and says, “Of course you could, Sire,” in the most irritating way Arthur _has ever heard_. He seethes at Merlin for a moment, but gives it up when it occurs to him that, really, Merlin can’t be blamed for his insouciance. No doubt it’s a defense mechanism to protect him from acknowledging that Arthur is simply superior—what a blow to the ego it would be to understand that all his experience with men still could never live up to Arthur’s natural ability.

“You never told me what was so diverting,” Arthur says, approaching the window to peer over Merlin’s shoulder. Outside, the guards are drilling under Balen’s direction, like every Wednesday.

Merlin taps the smeared glass. “See the guards?”

“Of course I see the guards, Merlin, please try to be less inane.”

“How many are there?”

“Forty-one,” Arthur says automatically. It should really be forty, but he’d convinced his father a few days before to employ the son of one’s of Camelot’s bakers to help support her while she recovered from a broken arm.

“I’ve had six of them,” says Merlin, smirking again.

“Six!” Arthur sputters.

“And four of your knights,” Merlin continues. “I’d rather not count other castle servants or squires or—”

“My knights!” Arthur is appalled. Which knights? When? Had it been on one of their hunts, Merlin sneaking out of Arthur’s tent after he’d fallen asleep, slipping into the forest with Kay or Griflet or Pelinore? Or worse, climbing into one of the tents they shared and letting them enjoy his slim body together? Or did he meet them in secret alcoves of the castle? Did he drop to his knees hurriedly where anyone could happen by and _see_?

“And I was just thinking to myself, which one do I want next?” Merlin tilts his head, considering the men as they lunge and sweat in the sunlight.

“You,” Arthur says, in tones both disturbed and awed, “are an absolute _slattern_.”

“And you’re an arrogant berk,” Merlin says. “My point is—”

“To open your legs for half the kingdom?!”

Merlin scowls. “No, you arse. My point is that there is no way, _no way_ , that you could bed another man better than me. You’ve never even had sex with a man.”

“It can’t be that different,” huffs Arthur, because, come on, it can’t. Bodies were bodies were bodies.

“And that,” Merlin says, shifting to face Arthur and thrust one finger into his chest, “is exactly the attitude that makes me think you aren’t half as good in the sack as you like to think.”

“What?” Arthur says, incredulous. It was one thing to call into question his skill with men, but to doubt is skill _in general_? “Are you—are you asking to be thrown in the stocks?”

“Maybe,” says Merlin, sly.

And hell, now Arthur can never put Merlin in the stocks again, knowing—agh. “Shut _up_ , Merlin. You’re so—so wrong it’s maddening!”

“Or maybe no one wants to tell you the truth because you’re the prince,” Merlin winces even as he’s saying it, because he knows Arthur, and he knows that those words will hit in a deep, insecure place that Arthur manfully pretends doesn’t exist most of the time. Unfortunately, hitting it is a bit like prodding a bear, and now Arthur is very, very upset.

He shoves Merlin into the windowsill, holds him there with one arm braced across his chest, and is about to start yelling, but his mind suddenly flashes to his knights, and Merlin, to Gwaine pinning Merlin just like this except he's meaning to go in for a hot kiss. Only then it's not Gwaine—it's him. He could do so much better, and he damn well knows it, and he wants to see the look on Merlin's face when he admits it. Instead of shouting, Arthur leans in close and says, low, “I guess I’ll have to prove it to you, then.”

Merlin blinks at him, then grins and says, “That could be fun.”

Merlin drops his rag again, this time _on Arthur’s foot_ , and winds one arm around Arthur’s waist, the other hand gripping the back of Arthur’s neck. He pulls and Arthur, still a bit shocked at his own proposal, tips awkwardly into Merlin’s body. Merlin kisses him.

Merlin is, surprisingly (or maybe not), an excellent kisser. His lips are soft but he uses them to press firmly against Arthur’s, to nudge until he can suck Arthur’s lower lip between them and lave it with his tongue. Arthur shivers, letting Merlin lick his mouth open with quick, darting skill, until he’s sliding his tongue against Merlin’s behind his own teeth. Merlin’s hand is tangling in his hair, holding him still so he can explore the shape of Arthur’s teeth and, finally, invite Arthur into his own mouth. Merlin sucks on Arthur’s tongue and it sends desire winging through Arthur’s body.

Arthur grips Merlin’s hips and tugs them away from the wall so their bodies curve fully together, thigh against thigh, groin against groin, chest against chest. Merlin huffs a hot breath into Arthur’s mouth and slides the arm around Arthur’s waist down to grope his arse. His hand is strong and sure, hauling Arthur closer as he lifts a leg and hooks his heel over Arthur’s calf. The slow, wicked grind of his body is wonderful, he’s so _good_ already…

That reminds him.

Arthur pulls away, as far as he can with Merlin clinging to him like a sea creature and says, “You—bastard. Stop distracting me, I—”

Merlin laughs, not even breathless. “Yes, _sire_?” And that word, in that tone, in Merlin’s kiss-soft mouth, should not make Arthur’s cock twitch.

He disentangles himself from Merlin’s infuriatingly long limbs and steps back, narrow-eyed. “Strip and get on the bed.”

“Romantic,” says Merlin, not even budging from his position. “You’re really impressing me. No. Really.”

“I’m not going to seduce you, Merlin,” Arthur snaps, even though he kind of wants to, wants to peel every last stitch of Merlin’s coarse clothing away and whisper stupid things so Merlin will let him. Except Merlin is clearly going to let him anyway.

Frowning, Merlin unties his neckerchief. “Statements of your skill have been greatly exaggerated.”

So Arthur grabs him and manhandles the jacket and shirt off himself while Merlin whines and sort of struggles just to be perverse about it, very nearly thwarting Arthur from getting his belt unknotted. Since Merlin never bothered to make his bed this morning, it hardly matters when he wrestles Merlin onto it with his boots still on. Merlin, laughing insultingly, puts toe to heel and pushes them off while Arthur unlaces his breeches. The sheets will have to be changed regardless.

“Mmm,” Merlin rumbles, stretching pale against Arthur’s red linens. “Now that I’m naked, what’s the plan? Stare at me all night?”

If Arthur’s staring it’s not—well, it’s just that he’s never had a _naked man_ in his bed before, never even imagined it before an hour ago. And if he had, he certainly would not have imagined it being Merlin. But there he is, Merlin, just lying there being a nuisance and impossible and bloody difficult as expected. Arthur’s honestly not sure what to do now. Where does one start touching a man? Women were easy, throat, breasts, the slick nub in their curls, and then the tight center of them. Men were all—dangly and spiky and _confusing_.

Merlin lifts himself onto his elbows and says, “Admit it. You have no idea what to do. Ha.”

“I will admit no such thing,” Arthur says in his royal voice.

Bodies are bodies are bodies, right?

Arthur crawls onto the bed and lies down on his side, pressing his clothed body against Merlin’s nude one, and that’s interesting, the way Merlin’s eyes dilate. He puts a hand on Merlin’s chest and pushes him down onto his back again, and now Arthur, propped up on one elbow, can lean over him and use his nose to nudge Merlin’s head back. Throat.

The skin here is slightly damp and especially soft, probably from being under that damn neckerchief every day all day. Arthur only nuzzles at first, teasing. Merlin smells like herbs and dirt and all kinds of outdoorsy things, like the good, strong ale he brings when he accompanies Arthur on a hunt (probably because he continues to believe that being hungover the next morning will precipitate an early return to Camelot). Arthur opens his mouth and just breathes him in for a moment, until he can’t take it anymore and has to touch tongue to flesh.

Merlin’s neck and throat are strangely masculine. Not so strange considering Merlin is, in fact, a man, as Arthur has now clearly seen, but strange for Arthur, who has never bitten down on an Adam’s apple or felt the bristle of stubble under his lips. The collarbones are familiar though. Arthur rubs his teeth along one and relishes the way Merlin shudders.

“Boring,” Merlin criticizes, obviously because he’s afraid Arthur is doing too well.

“I can have you hanged, you know,” says Arthur. He bites Merlin’s shoulder as he draws one of Merlin’s arms above his head, and then the other. “Keep them there.”

“Kinky,” Merlin says, looking seriously flushed suddenly. “Threats on my life and fantasy bondage. Is this how you win all the ladies over?”

“Finally admitting you’re a woman?” Arthur snarks back, knowing it’s likely to mean little when he’s stroking Merlin’s sternum and lapping at the shell of Merlin’s ear.

Merlin rolls into him, his hard cock skidding against Arthur’s thigh. Disobedient ‘til the end, he lowers one arm and strokes a thumb down Arthur’s ribcage. “Not a woman,” he murmurs into the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “But if you’re good enough, you can fuck me like one.”

“Hell,” Arthur curses, vision going white around the edges as blood rushes away from his brain.

“You don’t know how, I know,” Merlin grins victoriously. “I’ll teach you. But only if you admit it.”

Before Arthur can take offense to that vocally and physically, Merlin kisses him, goes straight for the good part, licking Arthur’s upper lip from corner to corner and then inside, where Arthur meets him, forces him back out so they kiss filthily in the place between their mouths. Arthur presses forward, pushes Merlin down and gets himself on top, pinning Merlin’s arms next to his head while he kisses him like he would fight a battle. He doesn’t want Merlin to teach him anything; he wants Merlin begging to be taken apart on his cock.

Merlin opens his legs and arches into Arthur, body all vulnerable invitation even while he bites down hard on Arthur’s tongue. Arthur disengages the kiss long enough to realign and get his own teeth into Merlin’s bottom lip, and, finally, finally, Merlin groans.

Glad as he is for the small triumph, Arthur moves down. “Keep your arms up,” he commands, and Merlin smirks at him but does it. Arthur immediately pinches one of the Merlin’s nipples between two fingers and licks it. Breasts.

And Merlin’s reaction is entirely satisfactory, twisting away and then into the sensation, mouth dropping open. His arms start to lower but he manages to keep himself together enough to follow Arthur’s direction. Arthur rubs the pad of his thumb around Merlin’s other nipple, going from licking to sucking the one in his mouth, and it’s weird without the mounds of flesh to mold and grope but similar enough.

“Ah, ah,” Merlin grunts, fisting the blankets above his head. “Shit, that’s—Arthur—”

“Learning a thing or two, Merlin?” Arthur asks, switching to massaging Merlin’s other nipple with his tongue while he continues to pinch the first one. It’s beginning to look angry between his fingers. Both are peaked and tight and nice to look at, even considering Merlin’s dark, wiry chest hair.

Merlin lifts his head and glares at him. “You’re lucky I’m sensitive there. Word of advice, Arthur: most men aren’t.”

Arthur isn’t, so maybe Merlin has a point but either way, his knowledge is working well enough on Merlin. Probably because Merlin is such a girl by nature. The thought makes Arthur smile into Merlin’s chest.

“What?” Merlin snaps.

“Just thinking about how good it will be when you apologize for doubting my prowess,” Arthur says.

“Unlikely,” Merlin snorts. “You haven’t gotten near my cock yet.”

Arthur gives him an especially hard nip for that. He’s trying not to think about the manbit part, where things will get really out of his realm of experience, but he can feel the ridge of Merlin’s cock against his stomach, and he knows he can’t linger much longer if he’s going to prove himself.

He reaches down and touches it lightly, drags his fingers from the tip to the root. It’s not so alien; he’s touched himself enough times.

Arthur levers himself up, kneeling between Merlin’s spread legs and just looking for a second. Merlin watches him from beneath hooded eyes, waiting. He’s skinny, so skinny his bones seem to punch lines in his skin like a texture. His elbows stick out awkwardly where he’s kept his arms up. Redness has erupted around his mouth, down his neck to his chest, stubble burn. His lips and nipples are red for different reasons, and it’s such a nice contrast: red on white on red blankets, with shocks of black for emphasis. Arthur thinks of keeping him there all the time so he can come back from a long day of civil affairs and just—look.

Merlin thrusts his hips up impatiently and says, “Freaking out yet?”

“After this, you’re never going to want anyone else again,” Arthur replies, and finds that he really wants that to be true.

Even if he has to take some instruction to make it perfect.

Arthur wraps one hand around Merlin’s straining cock and gives it a careful stroke. Merlin’s eyelids flutter, so he does it again, this time curling the tips of his fingers over the head to catch the thick liquid gathered there. It slicks the next few strokes, which make Merlin close his eyes fully and gasp, but it’s not enough after long. This is something Arthur knows—how to put hand to cock and make it feel oh so good.

The oil is in one of the drawers in his bedside cabinet. “Merlin, get the oil,” he says.

Merlin, eyes blinking open, nods and shockingly does not make a snide comment. Arthur keeps stroking him with a lose fist as he twists up enough to pull the right drawer open and dig out the vial. Of course he knows exactly where it is, the little snoop. He hands it to Arthur with a sideways grin that seems like a compliment. Arthur takes it as one.

Arthur pours the oil directly into his hand, cupping it for a moment in his palm to warm it while Merlin settles back down and, miraculously, raises his arms above his head again. Arthur gnaws his lower lip to turn down the arousal Merlin’s compliance causes. He's always liked his lovers best like this, just letting him enjoy them, please them as he wishes, but Merlin's obedience feels like something else entirely. If only he could obey orders so well out of bed.

Merlin’s cock is in his hand again, gleaming and dark as Arthur draws it in and out of his fist. It feels good, and when Merlin starts making tiny keening noises in the back of his throat, Arthur knows he’s found a threshold he can’t come down from. His cock strains in his trousers, aching, but he can’t stop, not when Merlin’s writhing and pushing up, not closing his eyes this time at all. Merlin’s legs are drawn up, knees painfully wide, heels pushing into the bed. He’s so wanton it makes Arthur’s throat clench. Arthur puts one hand on Merlin’s stomach to hold him down and rubs his thumb hard where the underside of the cockhead meets Merlin’s shaft. Merlin jerks violently, body trying to curl up around the pleasure. God, that's good, Merlin is so _genuine_ about it.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, “You have to—stop, or—”

“Or what?” Arthur asks. “Will you come? How am I doing? Is this good enough for you, _Mer_ lin?” He pumps Merlin’s cock hard and fast, loving the helpless little twitches of Merlin's thighs, his panting breath.

“Gooaaah! Good enough to, to let you, ah—”

“What?” Arthur demands.

Merlin glares at him, muscles tense to the point of quivering. “Put your fingers in me, Arthur. I want you to fuck me.”

Breath explodes out of Arthur’s lungs, a feeling like being punched in the gut. “I want to,” he says.

“Do it,” Merlin commands. He brings his arms down, one to stop Arthur’s grip on him, the other supplying a supporting elbow. “One at a time. Middle finger first.”

Arthur hesitates. It’s like with a woman, but so much mor—

“Fuck,” Merlin curses, reaching for the vial. “I’ll do it. Watch me.”

Need looks gorgeous on Merlin. He’s clumsy with the oil, shaking slightly and spilling it all over his hand and the bed. Arthur didn’t think he could part his legs any wider, but somehow he manages and reaches down behind his thigh to slide his long middle finger into his arse. His head falls back as he reaches the last knuckle and rotates his wrist, twisting himself open for Arthur.

Merlin slowly draws his finger out and slides it in again with a small moan. Arthur moans helplessly in reply.

“One finger is easy,” Merlin grunts, “the second one is harder.” He pulls his finger out completely and pairs it with another before pushing them both at his entrance. Arthur watches, unable to breathe, as the hole stretches to accommodate, looking so small and yet opening readily enough with the right treatment. Coaxing.

Merlin looks at him, eyes completely black, and orders Arthur to: “Take your clothes off, sire.”

No one's has _ever_ dared speak to him like that, like Merlin does; he didn't know it could feel like this, like a shock of cold water after training in the summer sun. Arthur jerks his tunic off fast enough to snag his hair painfully, but he doesn’t want to miss a moment of Merlin’s fingers scissoring now. He fumbles with his breeches while Merlin adds a third finger.

“Your turn,” Merlin says, once Arthur’s shuffled his clothing off. He removes his fingers with an obscene wet sound that hits Arthur in the spine with a shudder. His arse is slick and willing like a woman’s vagina, and Arthur wants so badly to see if it’s as tight.

“Fingers,” Merlin says. “Please, just for a second, I want to feel—then cock. Arthur, hell, now—”

Arthur’s hand is still oiled from pumping Merlin’s cock; it’s easy to slide one, two, and three fingers into Merlin in short order. Merlin trembles beautifully being fucked by them, and Arthur thinks that he wants to have this again, every day, Merlin’s hot eyes and hot body and silly challenging laughter.

“Now, now, shit, Arthur,” Merlin pants. He uses one heel in the small of Arthur’s back to drag him down. Arthur’s fingers slip out of Merlin’s body with another filthy noise, filtered out beneath the sound of Arthur’s heart pounding in his ears. Merlin grips the base of his cock and guides him in.

It’s nothing like being inside a woman. It’s hotter and slicker and _tighter_ and Merlin is stronger and wilder. Arthur fucks him slowly at first, until Merlin is pulling his hair hard enough to really hurt and cursing him repeatedly, then Arthur leans back on his heels and hauls Merlin’s hips up into his lap where he can hold Merlin all the way open and give him no leverage to gain control of the rhythm as he clearly wants. Arthur grips Merlin’s thighs and shoves his cock inside to the root.

The pace he sets is brutal, driving into Merlin just the way Merlin is asking for it, hard and fast. Merlin’s legs hang in the air, useless—all Merlin can do is brace his arms against the headboard and ride it out. He’s writhing and flushed all over and has sweat dotting his brow; Arthur wants to memorize him.

Arthur looks down, almost numb with pleasure and loving, loving the sight of his big cock sliding in and out of Merlin’s pink arsehole, the _slapslapslap_ of it. Merlin’s cock is bouncing against his flat abdomen, leaving streaks of clear precome around his belly button. Arthur wants to lick them up and press the flavor between Merlin’s teeth.

“Ah, ah, ah, ah! Fuck, fuck! Yeah, fuck, oh, yeah,” Merlin is chanting like some demented pagan, eyes blindly focused on the canopy as his body seizes up and his orgasm wracks through him. Long strings of seed splatter his chest and stomach, and Arthur fucks him straight through it and out the other side.

“Hnnn,” Merlin says, dazed and wriggling with over-sensitivity. “Arthur, hell, uh…”

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, coming as deeply and inevitably as a winter blizzard; it makes everything around him as white.

Arthur drops Merlin’s legs and falls forward, just barely catching himself with a hand before he lands against Merlin’s chest still covered in ropes of comes. The smell of sex and sweat is potent enough to make him dizzy. Merlin is panting beneath him, limp and pliant. They stay that way, recovering.

“Ugh, off,” Merlin whines eventually, pushing at Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s stinging.”

Arthur’s cock is already half-soft as he slides out and rolls over. Merlin’s arms rests alongside his, and even that is almost too much right now. He doesn’t move away.

“Admit it, Merlin, I’m the best lover you’ve ever had,” says Arthur when he can’t resist anymore.

“Yeah, well,” Merlin says, “you had help.”

Arthur grins, pleased beyond all reason by the admission. “You mean that part where you got ideas above your station and started ordering me to do what I was already about to?”

Merlin turns to stare at him, incredulous. Arthur loves that expression; it fills him with a happy, sated sense of gleeful meanness. “That is not what happened, you—arseface! You were as lost as any virgin maid!”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur says condescendingly. “Of course, you may think what you want. The truth is still the truth.”

“Arrrgh!” Merlin yells, and tries to smother Arthur with a pillow.

* * *

  


END


End file.
